


unbalance

by deadlybride



Series: fic for fire relief [14]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Class Differences, Gender Dysphoria, Infidelity, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:20:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26825035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: Jared's already struggling to provide for his family when he loses his job. Jensen offers a solution.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: fic for fire relief [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926739
Comments: 39
Kudos: 129





	unbalance

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for wildfire relief. Personalized fics are available on request; see [this post on my tumblr](https://zmediaoutlet.tumblr.com/post/629171809812643840/fic-for-fire-relief) for more info.
> 
> \--also, since some people have asked: yes, 'halman' basically just means omega. I just am tedious about language. :)

By the time the last domino crashes down, Jared's so exhausted that he doesn't have the energy to be surprised.

"It's nothing to do with you," his manager says. "We're just changing the position and some cuts have been made. Sorry, but today will be your last day."

"Okay," Jared says. He's still holding his apron, balled up in his lap. He didn't even start his actual shift.

"Um," his manager says, and smiles awkwardly. "Before you go, though, could you get down that case of Absolut from the top shelf? Cara can't lift it."

He gets down the case of Absolut. He gives back his keycard to the kitchen door, and puts his apron into the laundry. He leaves, and goes out into the casino, and stands there among the midday noise—flashing lights from the slot machines, laughter from the video poker—and then he walks across the floor to the other bar, and sits down at the very end, and Tom squints at him and says, "Hey, don't you work at the restaurant? You on break? Want a beer?"

"Yeah, thanks," Jared says, to the last question. He shouldn't. Even if Tom gives him an employee discount—but he accepts the beer, a Bud foaming in a too-cold glass, and holds it between his hands. He's shocked, he thinks, distantly, only it doesn't feel like shock. He woke up at three this morning and couldn't get back to sleep. Dad's breathing machine in the bedroom was the only thing he could hear, and he'd put a pillow over his face but the slow compression sounds still made it through, and he couldn't help it—he'd started to do math.

Medicaid takes care of a lot of Dad's bills, but not all of them. Dad needs a new wheelchair. Jessie hasn't been able to work since her diagnosis and she's supposed to start getting disability, but the checks haven't come yet. Charlie's speech therapy is going okay but he still bursts into hot, furious tears every time Jared leaves him at the specialist daycare. The gas company says they're going to shut service off if Jared doesn't pay, next time. His stomach hurts from not eating breakfast this morning. He was supposed to get his server meal today, at work.

The beer's thin and tasteless, but it's making his belly warm. He's spinning the beer mat, thoughtlessly. A busload of convention people swarms the floor and some old guys sit down close to Jared at the bar, order the fruity house special. They're financial managers, Jared gathers. Here to celebrate a successful second quarter.

"You look down."

Jared looks up. A guy, standing with his elbow on the bar, close. He's well-dressed, handsome. Pretty, almost, if he weren't giving Jared an annoyingly knowing smile.

"I'm okay, sir," Jared says. He says sir out of habit and realizes he doesn't have to, anymore, because he's not technically an employee of the casino anymore. He consciously unclenches his jaw, puts the beermat down and his half-empty beer on top of it.

"Sir," the guy echoes, his smile getting wider. "Hm. You have a name?" Jared gives it, and gets a thoughtful look. "Do you know my name?"

Jared frowns. "What, you want me to guess?" It's two in the afternoon. If this guy's trying to be flirty, this is not the day or the time.

He gets an actual blink of surprise, and then the guy licks his lips. "Okay," he says, oddly soft considering the rest of his attitude. "You were downsized today, right?"

It doesn't compute for a second. "What?" Then: "How the hell did you know that?"

At least he's not smiling anymore. "I know a lot of what goes on in here," he says. Jared turns on his stool so that they're looking at each other head on, and now that he's actually paying attention—he is familiar. A manager? Jared doesn't know. "You worked at the bistro. They're going another direction." He leans in slightly, like a secret. "That means they're hiring a bunch of female servers. They get better tips for the pool."

Like Jared doesn't know that. The number of men who look up and up at him and then give him a measly ten percent, if they give him anything at all—the bachelorette parties don't make up for it.

"I have a job for you," the guy says, after a minute. "Jared. You were a good server. I think you could do well, for me."

Jared sits up straighter. "What's the job?"

The guy bites his bottom lip, denting the full swell of it. "I think," he says, not meanly, "that you don't really have the luxury of being choosy." He looks Jared up and down, while Jared's flinching at the presumption—from his head to the too-scuffed tips of his shoes. "I think you need the money. It pays very well, but it requires discretion. I think you should come with me, up to my office."

All of it said quietly, under the loudness of the conventioneers and the slots. Jared feels frozen. He gets a considering look, and then the guy takes out his own wallet, and slides a ten just under Jared's beermat. "For the tip," he says, and then tilts his head.

The ride in the elevator is quiet. Jared stands with his back to the mirrored wall and watches the guy's face in the mirrored door. When they get out, fortieth floor, he follows down the hallway, and follows into a room, and it's—just a hotel room, not an office at all. King bed, deep red carpet, curtains open to the Strip outside, the afternoon light streaming in. He frowns, looks around.

"You really don't know who I am?"

He turns. The guy's taken off his suit jacket, is undoing his cufflinks. Jared shrugs and gets a smile. The guy rakes his hands through his hair, mussing it out of its professional-looking coif, and lets it fall over his forehead, soft and messy. "Jensen," he says, and his smile gets very small. "I think, until about half an hour ago, I was technically your boss."

Jensen—Jensen _Ackles_ —jesus christ. Heir to the hotel, and with some puffed-up stupid job that everyone knew he didn't really do but that his daddy gave him to make him feel important. He'd had some tabloid scandal, a few years ago—Jessie had read all about it, telling him the sordid details in bed while Jared was trying to watch basketball—and oh, god, that's why Jared recognizes him. His hair falling in his eyes, photographed by paparazzi.

"You waited on our table once," Jensen says, while Jared's rapidly reevaluating his situation. He leans a hip against the tv console, his arms folded over his chest. "I guess you don't remember. You were—very good. Nice but professional, not fawning. I liked that."

"And you want to give me a new job?" Jared says. He doesn't want to say sir again but it's on the tip of his tongue. If he'd known this was a cut-rate Hilton heiress he might not have gotten in the elevator.

Jensen lets his head tip back on his shoulders a little, so he's looking at Jared almost defiantly. "I do," he says. "I want you to fuck me."

Another odd magnified moment where Jared can't quite hear what's been said. He holds his tongue this time, though. Jensen isn't blushing, isn't joking. "That's not a job," Jared says, after a second.

Jensen actually laughs, though it's brief. "Au contraire," he says, "it's the oldest job there is."

What the hell. "I'm not—" Jared says, and stops, and looks at Jensen more closely.

He is flushed, just slightly. He's not breathing heavily, or sweating, but he's got the faintest tinge of pink to his ears, and his pupils are dilated just enough that his eyes look dark. Jared swallows. "If you wanted it, you could get it from anyone," he says. "Why would you—pay?"

Jensen lifts a shoulder. "That's my problem," he says. "Your problem is that you need money. I have money. I think we could say we've found a solution to your problem."

"I'm not a—" Jared can't believe he's saying it. "I don't screw people for money. I'm married."

"I'm not," Jensen says. He doesn't sound surprised to hear Jared say it, and also doesn't seem to care. "And very few people can say they've done anything for money before they've done it. Before you were a waiter did you say you didn't give people food for money? There's a first time for everything."

Jared stares at him. His tone is completely matter-of-fact.

Jensen sighs. "Let's put it this way. I'll give you five hundred dollars for an afternoon's work. A little more than you would've gotten in tips today, I think. If you do well, I'll double it."

It's like there's no air in the room. A thousand dollars. His bank account is currently sitting around forty bucks. He's hungry. He thinks of the gas bill.

"You can tell your wife," Jensen says, "that some high roller just tipped you very, very well."

God. Like he still needs convincing. "Okay," he says.

Jensen smiles at him. "Good. And if you tell people, or go to a tabloid or to the police, you know my father will have your kneecaps broken, right?"

It's hard to tell if it's a joke. "Isn't that just something mobsters do in movies?" Jared says.

"You'd be surprised," Jensen says. Then he tips his head, his hair falling over his forehead, and says, "Take off your clothes."

It's surreal, and makes his stomach flip. He can't move for a second and is glad, weirdly and immediately, that he doesn't wear his wedding ring to work. Jensen's eyes narrow, and then he stoops and opens the mini-fridge, pulls out two little bottles, and tosses one to Jared. Jim Beam. "Drink up," Jensen says, and Jared uncaps it and drains it, in three quick burning swallows. It stings going down but it hits his belly like lava, and he shakes his head, works his jaw, and then lifts his hands to his shirt-buttons, and tries to think of it like a job. It's just a dumb job, like asking customers how they want their steaks cooked, and smiling indulgently when some middle aged hal wife acts like getting a side of fries is an adventure. He's wearing his work uniform: black button down, black pants, black shoes. It's not anything he thinks of as sexy but Jessie used to say she liked him in it, that it was hot when he rolled his sleeves up his forearms to prep for work. He shakes his head, halfway down the buttons. He has to stop—thinking about anything that's outside this room.

Jensen's half-sitting on the console, watching. He twists the cap on his own mini back and forth but isn't drinking it. Jared finishes with the shirt and doesn't know what to do with it. "The desk," Jensen says, and Jared swallows and drops it on the desk. Undoes his belt, slides it off; heel-toes his shoes off, and feels a gut-shock of embarrassment when he sees the hole in his sock and knows that Jensen's seeing it, too, before he peels them off. Undershirt—pants—and when he's down to his boxers he looks up and finds Jensen watching him with the tip of his tongue between his teeth, his cheeks pink. He gets a blink, like _what are you waiting for?_ , and then there's nothing for it but to skim his boxers down, and kick them off his ankle, and then he's just—naked, standing there by the foot of the bed. He looks away and catches the clock on the bedside table, and has to tamp down a weird surge of hysteria. It's 2:25. His shift started twenty-five minutes ago.

Jensen's silent. Jared has no idea what to do. He's not hard and wonders if he should try to get there, but it's not his show and he doesn't want to fuck it up, with a grand on the line.

The silence stretches and Jensen's still just looking at him. Jared looks back, with nothing else to do. He's tall, but of course not as tall as Jared. Handsome, like Jared had thought before, but that's not really the right word. Big, pretty eyes with long lashes, and that mouth. Clean-shaven and neat, except for his muss of light brown hair. His body—broad shoulders, and obvious muscle under the pale blue shirt. Jared's eyes drop, below, and he can't tell what's under the wool trousers. He tries to imagine how they'll have sex, and can't.

Finally, Jensen moves. He slips off his shoes, and his socks. Pale feet. He comes to stand in front of Jared, and close like this he looks small. He frowns a little, looking up at Jared, but he's still got dark eyes, still got pink at his ears and on his cheekbones, and Jared sees, up close at last, that he's got freckles, spattered all over. One on his lip. He licks his lips, again—maybe a nervous habit—but there's nothing at all nervous about the way he reaches up and takes Jared's head in his hands, and tugs him down to kiss him.

It's a good kiss, other than how Jared freezes at first. Jensen's steady, his mouth soft. It's Jared who deepens it, slowly, and Jensen sighs into his mouth and tips into him, his hands dragging down to Jared's chest. Sweet, Jared thinks, unexpectedly, and it's not—he puts a hand to Jensen's jaw and feels him quiver, like it wasn't what he expected, either. Reminds him of Jessie, their first time—but she'd admitted to him, afterward—

He pulls away and Jensen's eyes are closed, his lips wet. Jared drags a thumb along the smooth line of his jaw and Jensen tips his head into it, like a cat begging for attention. What on earth, Jared thinks, but Jensen's opening his eyes now, his chest lifting on a deep breath. He says, "Keep kissing me," voice low, and so Jared tips his face up and does, keeping it slow and soft, licking in, learning how Jensen tastes. He's been with men, a few times, but women and hals are by far his preference. Still, this isn't going to be a hardship.

Between their bodies, Jensen's hands are moving, taking off his shirt. Jared helps, a little, even if he's busy—pushing it off Jensen's shoulders, feeling the warm smoothness of his skin. Sound of a belt, then, and he kisses Jensen's cheek, and his jaw, and the side of his throat, and there's the zipper going down, and then Jensen takes his wrist, and slides his hand down Jensen's bare back, to his ass. Jared squeezes. Not hard to appreciate that—full high muscle, enough to sink his teeth into—and Jensen makes a small noise and tips his head down, putting his forehead against Jared's chest. Jared slides both hands down past the loose waist of his pants, gripping his ass in both hands and pulling him in, spreading the muscle. It's instinctive to slip two fingers down, to rub down the tailbone, and he's expecting dry hot skin, and what he gets is—

"Fuck," he says, softly. Jensen's stiff against his chest, his hands tight on Jared's sides. Jared slides his fingers, dipping. "Fuck, you're soaking."

He is. Hairless, soft, and so wet that Jared's fingers can hardly get purchase. Assumptions realign in his head. Jensen's hips tip back, against his hand, and Jared curves his shoulder and feels further along, and—yes, empty stretch of skin, no sack to interrupt, and he says, with the evidence all over his hand, "You're a halman?" and Jensen says, very softly, "Remember about the broken kneecaps."

Jared pauses. It doesn't make any sense. Is he—trans? Trying to pass? Trying, hell. Succeeding. Jared tries to remember, if in any of that tabloid crap there'd been any mention of Jensen's sex, but he wasn't paying enough attention. He doesn't give off tells—dressing in a man's suit, carrying himself like he owns the room. His hair's a little long but, shit, it's not like Jared has any room to talk in that department. Jared slides his hand back up, flattening three fingers there where Jensen's softest, and Jensen says, "I asked you to make it good."

Earlier, he'd said his reasons weren't Jared's problem. Jared takes both orders to heart. He tips Jensen's head to one side and applies his mouth to the side of his neck, to his shoulder, and with his other hand he presses a soft maddening massage to his hole. He'd been uncertain, when he thought Jensen was a guy—he knows what to do, with a hal, and even more so with a nervous hal. Broken kneecaps, he thinks, and by the time he slips his middle finger in Jensen's shuddering against his chest, and it takes no time at all before he's coming, just clenching around Jared's finger, making a small surprised sound that's wet against Jared's bare skin.

He maneuvers Jensen to the bed, lays him on his back. He's pink, cheeks and throat and flat hairless chest. He lays his hand on Jensen's stomach, feels it soft, and then hooks his fingers into his trousers, his boxer-briefs, pulls them down. Jensen lifts his hips a little, to help, and Jared can tell that he's watching Jared's face as everything's revealed. And, yes—there, the stiff little pole of a hard clit, rather than a dick—there, the empty place where balls ought to be—there, the wet gleam inside his thighs, where he's practically dripping. His hips are, yeah, a flared curve—hidden, under the suit. He must have a good tailor. His thighs are beautiful.

"You want more?" Jared says. He's half-hard, now. Impossible to be otherwise, with how responsive this unexpected body has turned out to be.

Jensen licks his lips. His hands are loose, at his sides on the cream-colored blanket. "I wanted an afternoon," he says, even, and Jared can't help but smile at him. What a little shit.

His body's perfect. Jared makes him come again, suckling his clit with his thumb just resting inside his wet hole, and the way he ripples, clenches, his thighs clutching at Jared's shoulders and his little, choked-off noises—god, it's pretty. Jared brings him there again, thrusting gently with two fingers this time, thin salty discharge coating his tongue, and Jensen grips his hair, pushing up into his mouth, gasping with this high edge to his voice that's almost a whine. "Turn over, baby," Jared says, while Jensen's muscles are still jumping, and Jensen gasps and says, "Don't call me that," but he pushes up on a shaking arm and turns over just like Jared told him to, and Jared's presented with his pretty, pretty ass, his back strong and flexing as he shifts against the bed, and Jared pulls his cheeks open and bends and eats him out with focus, licking deep, the thick tang seizing there under his tongue and making his mouth water. Up above Jensen yelps, muffled like he's got his face pressed into a pillow, and Jared slips a hand under him and cups his wet clit in his palm and lets Jensen thrust against it, and Jensen comes that time right under Jared's tongue, the muscle flexing, aching, wanting something inside it.

Jared's so hard now his balls hurt. "Condom?" he says, and Jensen pants against the pillow and says, "You're clean, I checked," and that's—stupid, that's so stupid, but his dick jerks against his stomach, just imagining how it might feel. Jensen says, low, "I haven't—in five years—I'm clean, I swear—would you just—please—" and that's—that's how it should be, his voice low and sweet and begging, and Jared licks his lips and shifts forward and noses his dick right there, where Jensen's so soft, the wet of him insanely hot, perfect. Perfect. "Oh—" Jensen says—"God—" and Jared slips a hand under his belly and pulls him up, just an inch, and Jensen gets his elbows under himself and arches his back and when Jared pushes in it's like gliding through silk, he's so wet, his body just opening up and swallowing Jared down.

Jensen comes when Jared's still thrusting slow, trying to get him used to it. It's out of nowhere, with Jared's mouth on his shoulders, his hips still gentle, and the feel of him clamping down internally almost hurts, it's so tight. "Jesus," Jared says, trying to hold on while Jensen shakes, "jesus, baby, you wanted it bad, didn't you," and Jensen says, "Shut _up_ ," thin and aching, and then: "Keep going, keep going, I didn't tell you to stop—" so Jared lifts up, enough that he can see Jensen's red face, his lips wet and open against the pillow, and he pushes in hard that time and watches Jensen's whole body jolt, and he cries out finally, a real sound he can't crush down, and Jared gets his hips in his hands and makes him do it again, and again, crushing in and fucking him for real, like he wanted, filling him up, slipping through his slick and making him feel it. When he comes he doesn't pull out but crushes his hips right up into Jensen's, his dick flexing deep and his balls unloading gratefully, and Jensen looks back at him over his shoulder and looks positively shocked, so hot for it that Jared wishes he could go again immediately—but he just slips his hand down, fists Jensen's clit, and Jensen comes too, his body clenching and milking Jared dry, so tight it's almost like he's in heat. God, god, if he were in heat. Jared's balls pulse, creaming him just that little bit more.

Jensen's shaking, when Jared comes back to himself. His brain is jumping up and down trying to remind him—what he's done, what he's doing—who he's with—but Jensen's shaking, and Jared pulls out very carefully, and turns Jensen over, and pulls him into his chest, his arm around Jensen's shoulders and Jared's chin on top of his head. His muscles keep jumping, his breath strange and jerky, and Jared slides his hand down, thinking—god, he didn't—but when he dips his fingers in and checks, there's no red, just the slick creamy white of them, mixed together. He feels his cheeks heat. Jesus, he can't believe he got talked into that. He wipes his fingers on the blanket and sets his hand on Jensen's back, instead, and waits. He feels—he doesn't know. He's with a stranger but it doesn't feel strange, right now.

When Jensen pulls away, he's more or less composed. "Thank you," he says, weirdly formal. Jared tips his face up and Jensen lets him, eyelashes sweeping up as he meets Jared's eyes. He doesn't look like he's going to cry but he looks—fragile. His hands are on Jared's chest, his legs still tangled with Jared's. His clit's mostly soft, bumping sweetly against Jared's dick, and Jared—wants to do a lot of things, but for now he just dips his head and takes another kiss. Jensen inhales quick, clearly surprised, but Jared ignores it and licks inside, deep, gentle. When he lifts up Jensen's staring at him, his face open and just—shatteringly soft, before he closes his eyes, turns his face away—and then takes his body away, rolling enough on the bed that they're separated. Jared pulls back, too. Remembering.

"That was good," Jensen says. He sits up. Jared can still see the side of his face and sees the way his expression changes as he shifts his weight. "You did well."

"Thanks," Jared says, a little ironically, and Jensen glances at him, and then away. He slides down to the end of the bed and picks his shirt up off the floor, shrugging it back over his shoulders. Jared sits up, too, feeling disconnected from his body. It's not—it feels—

Jensen leans down and picks up his trousers, and fishes his wallet out of the pocket. A man's wallet, Jared thinks. Masculine, heavy leather. He picks out a stack of bills and puts them on the bed, between them. Jared swallows. Jensen says, "It's all there, but count it if you want."

He stands up, and goes into the bathroom. Full view of his long legs, his ass just barely covered by his shirt-tails, before the door closes. Jared drags a hand over his face and then picks up the money. Ten hundred dollar bills. His next breath comes out shaky. It's just after four o'clock. It felt like longer.

The toilet flushes. The sink runs for a few seconds, and Jensen comes out of the bathroom doing up his shirt, his hair slightly damp and tucked behind his ears. "I'm going to call you," he says. He bends and picks up his trousers, slipping them back up his legs. Neatened away so quickly. He glances at Jared, not smiling. "I'm assuming that won't be a problem."

The money is heavy in Jared's hand. He remembers Dad's face, when the landlord came and told Jared, not quietly, that if Jared asked for another rent extension then he'd file for eviction. "Not a problem," Jared says.

Jensen nods, like a business deal's just been made. His fingers are nimble on his cufflinks. When his shoes are on, but before he puts on his jacket, he pauses, and then comes back over to the bed, where Jared's still sitting naked, his sweat drying. "Is it all right if I kiss you again?" Jensen says.

Jared huffs. He's got the evidence of how okay it is getting damp in his hand. He lifts his face, and Jensen bends and cups his jaw and kisses him—softly. Almost shy. When their lips part he lets his nose brush Jared's, and Jared hears him take a deep breath. "The room's paid for the night," he says, standing up. "Keycard's on the desk. Stay as long as you want. I'll see you, Jared."

He puts his jacket on as he's on his way out the door. Jared sits on the bed, looking out the window. Dinner service will be starting up, soon. Early birds getting in their specials before they go out to lose their money at the tables. At home, Jessie will be trying to put together a meal for Dad. Charlie will be watching his cartoons with single-minded focus.

He goes into the bathroom, and takes a very, very long shower. He can take a nap, and get something cheap for dinner, before he goes home at the time he's expected. He'll tell Jessie he got a great tip from a high-roller. It's a good lie; makes no sense, not to use it.

*

Jensen sends him a text, the next day. _Room 240, 3:00. Knock._ He leaves his wife and his toddler and his sick dad at home, and he goes to room 240, and Jensen's waiting, and he makes another five hundred. It's surreal. It's lucrative. He pays his gas bill, and the electricity too.

On Friday, another text, another room. He goes. Jensen's—so strange. Prickly and soft, and aloof and desperate. He wants to suck Jared's dick, that time, and Jared sits on the edge of the bed and thinks, dazedly, that he's getting paid for this. Jensen's good at it, his mouth soft and sweet, and he lets Jared come inside, and then Jared fingers him slow and unrelenting through three orgasms before he's hard enough again to fuck him, and Jensen clings to him and grips his hair and shakes when they're done, and Jared holds him through it and kisses him, too, after, when Jensen asks.

At home, a few weeks later, he says he got a promotion to manager. "What, really?" Jessie says. The skepticism isn't flattering. "You haven't been there long enough."

"Well, they like me," Jared says, and goes to stop Charlie from screaming the house down when Mickey goes to commercial. Dad's asleep in the bedroom, because he's always sleeping anymore. The doctor said that would happen but it doesn't mean Jared likes it.

Another text, a few days later. He's out of the house, because it's supposed to be his 'manager' shift, and he's looking for jobs in the free paper at the coffee shop, but he's not looking that hard. When he gets to the room Jensen's in bare feet, drinking something dark out of a glass. "Next week is the 14th," he says, nonsensically, and doesn't look at Jared. "My heat."

Jared leans back against the door. "Okay," he says.

Jensen drains the glass in two swallows and grimaces slightly. "I want you available. Can you swing that?"

"I guess," Jared says, and then understands a little late. "Wait—you mean, you want me _here_ all week?"

"That's how long it generally takes, yes," Jensen says, and Jared says, "I can't—I have a family. I can't just take off."

"Ten grand," is what Jensen says, in response, and Jared takes it like a shot to the gut. "For the week. You can say it's a conference the restaurant's sending you to."

"All the conferences happen here," Jared says, but his stomach's a knot because he knows he's going to say yes.

Jensen knows it, too. He leans his hip against the desk and gives Jared a steady look. "Have you paid off that Corolla, yet?" he says, and for a brief hot moment Jared absolutely hates him.

That night, Jessie's awake, reading, when he gets home. "Hey," she says, lazy and sleepy enough that she doesn't sound bitter. He kisses her forehead, crawls onto his side of the pull-out couch. Charlie's asleep, in his crib in the corner. "How was work?"

"Fine," he says. He stretches out, under the thin blanket. "They're sending me to a conference next week, actually. Some manager training, at the hotel in LA."

"What?" she says, sounding more awake. "Who's gonna take care of—"

"Don't worry," he says. His throat feels tight. "They gave me an advance on my next check. I'll hire a sitter—Kim's mom will do it."

Jessie hums, surprised. "Well, okay," she says. She lays a hand on his arm and smiles at him. Feels like the first time in a while. "My man, taking care of business."

"Yeah," he says, closing his eyes. "Yeah, that's me."

*

On the 14th, Jensen texts and says, _wait in the lobby, 11:00_. Jared waits. He packed a bag and he feels like any of the other tourists, crowding around check-in. One of the doormen comes over to him at 11:02. "Sir, your car's here," he says, and Jared follows him, feeling like an alien, to a taxi, and the taxi takes him off the Strip and out to a neighborhood he's never been to before. Nice houses but not mansions, each with a decent-sized yard, a fence. He gets let off in front of one that's yellow with white trim, and a blue front door. He knocks, with his stupid bag in his other hand, and Jensen opens the door after about five seconds. Must have been waiting. "Thank god," Jensen says, and pulls him in, and kisses him.

There's no tour. Jensen pulls him down a short hall to a living room and says, "I need you," and Jared doesn't disappoint him. They fuck the first time there on the couch, most of Jared's clothes still on, Jensen naked and desperate in his lap, skin hot enough that it feels like a fever, his forehead pressed against Jared's so they're breathing the same air, and the hormones he's putting out are so strong that Jared's knot plumps way before he's ready—but Jensen's more than, he's been waiting, and he grinds down into the thickness and cries out and comes, clamping, and Jared creams him up just like he's been ordered to, like he's for, humping in and holding him tight, pulsing, his head going entirely, blissfully empty.

When he comes back to self-awareness it's to Jensen shifting strangely, in his lap. "Fuck," Jared says, first, and then, belatedly, "Sorry, are you—god, are you okay?"

They normally spend way more time on foreplay. He grips Jensen's hips, leaning back to check his face, but Jensen just nods, clearly distracted. His clit's hard as a rock, poking into Jared's stomach, and his nipples are tight and flushed like Jared's been plucking at them, and his skin really is hot, like he's about to sunburn, but he's not sweating. Long, long time since Jared fucked a halman through his heat—god, it was freshman year of college, before he had to drop out—and he forgot how—different, it is. He slides his hands around to Jensen's ass, squeezing gently, and Jensen shudders and clamps internally and Jared has to breathe through it as he milks out yet more come. It's not until then that he realizes why Jensen's shifting like he is—he's pulling, gently. Feeling how they're tied.

"Feel good?" he says, and he's not teasing but honestly just curious.

He gets a look, before Jensen shuts his eyes. "Yes," Jensen says, and Jared smiles and leans forward, and applies his mouth to those flushed nipples, so they'll have earned that used-hard look.

There's food, when they finally untie. Jensen pulls on soft workout shorts and takes him to the kitchen, where there's salad and a lemony pasta thing that's so good Jared groans at the first bite. "Taste good?" Jensen says, in the exact tone Jared had used, but Jared's not a bitch and he just says, "It's amazing," honest, and sees Jensen's face duck, a pleased smile curving his mouth.

"You made it?" he says, surprised. Jensen takes a bite of salad and doesn't answer, and Jared thinks of those carefully tailored suits, the secrecy. In sex ed in fifth grade, they gathered all the boys into one classroom while the girls and the hals got split into their own groups, and Mr. Jaworski had said, reading from slides that looked like they were from the 1950s, how hormones made halmen feel predisposed to motherhood during their 'special' week. In college, Georgie hadn't seemed interested in nesting so much as he had in draining Jared's dick dry, but then—Georgie was eighteen, and Jensen is…

He'd looked it up, finally. Jensen Ackles, twenty-seven. Jared hadn't realized Jensen was that much older. Listed as the only son of the Ackles family. A son, not a halson. He wonders who actually knows. He wonders who knows about this house.

"You brought clothes?" Jensen says, and Jared shrugs. Jensen shakes his head. "Bedroom's upstairs, on the left. Brush your teeth, there was garlic in that."

He goes upstairs and finds a bland, impersonal bedroom. He brushes his teeth in the attached bathroom. He washes his face, and after a second's thinking he washes his dick, too, and then changes into sweatpants and a t-shirt, and goes back down to find Jensen.

Still in just shorts, still in the kitchen. Washing dishes by hand at the sink. Jared pauses in the doorway, looking at him, and he was quiet but Jensen's head turns and he says, "Why did that take so long?" and then he walks across the tile floor with his hands still wet and kisses Jared hard, and they fuck again, against the wall, Jensen reaching behind himself to grip Jared's hair, keep him close. Like Jared would go anywhere, with this on offer.

Jensen wants it, and so Jared fucks him. There's a pool in back surrounded by a tall fence and taller trees, and at sunset on the second day Jared sits on the step and Jensen sinks onto him, his face going still and then weirdly grateful, and Jared lets Jensen do all the work, sliding himself down onto Jared's thickness, the water lapping between them with his movements. When Jared finally knots Jensen's trembling, his body hot and needing, and Jared kisses his throat and fondles his clit under the water and while he unloads Jensen comes twice, in quick succession, and he drapes over Jared's shoulder then like he's lost all control, and Jared strokes his wet, soft skin, indulging him.

It's easy to fuck him. It's harder to talk. On the third day, Jensen wakes him up pre-dawn with a mouth on his dick, and when Jared's almost there he crawls up and fits his ass right over where he's made Jared so wet and Jared's knot blows on that first thrust, and it's mind-blowing enough that he doesn't have the sense to lift a hand and help Jensen out. He just lays there, panting and feeling the merciless wringing-out his dick's getting, and gets to watch Jensen play with himself, for the first time. All those secret meetings and Jensen's never touched his own clit, but now, in the grey light, he pets along the spine of it, pulls at the little snub head with delicate fingers. Jared lifts his hips, another surge of come pushing out, and Jensen rolls his head back on his shoulders and touches his slit with one finger, pushing through the soft pointless glans, and that's enough to make him shudder, his body clenching, and Jared's balls feel sore but they give up more, for that, until he feels wrung dry.

Jensen's stuck on him and Jared hasn't even had coffee. He pets Jensen's thighs, distracted, and Jensen shakes his head and says, "Pull your knees up," and that shifts his hips enough that it's comfortable for Jensen to lay down on Jared's chest, his asshole pulling at the knot but not enough to hurt. He folds an arm under his head, using Jared's shoulder as a pillow, and Jared pets through his hair, knowing by now that Jensen responds to it like—well, yeah, like a cat. It's the first thing Jared thought and the association won't break. He reacts needily, always. Like he's starved. Now, he tips his head into it and sighs, and plays with the hair on Jared's chest. It's comfortable. Domestic, practically.

"What did you do last time?" Jared says. Jensen makes an inquisitive sound. "Your last heat. Did you pay someone?"

A pause. Jensen fingers keep messing with his hair, pulling lightly. "I didn't do anything," he says, after a few moments. "I stayed here with a dildo for company." Another pause. "It was cheaper."

Jared snorts. "So," he says. Jensen's hand goes flat, on his chest. Maybe it's a warning but he's curious, wants to know. "You said it had been five years, since you were with someone? Was that—"

"It wasn't during my heat," Jensen says, and that time it is quelling. Jared bites his tongue. Jensen sits up a little and grabs Jared's hand, pulls it down between them. "I want to come again," he says, and kisses Jared before he can say anything else and so, well, Jared makes him come again, and when they untie Jensen lifts off him, naked, and says, "You have to take a shower before you can have my coffee," and Jared drags his hands over his face but he goes, and he has a shower, because he has a job here, and his job is to do what Jensen wants.

Jensen has an IUD, he says. Absolutely no chance of this heat actually doing anything. How, Jared wants to know, did he get an IUD, but then he supposes that doctors have to be sworn to secrecy. He takes a nap, in the afternoon after another fantastic lunch, and wakes up to Jensen softly palming his dick, working him hard. They already fucked four times today and he's almost sore. "You're greedy," he says, sleepy, and one side of Jensen's mouth lifts, and he turns around and sinks backward onto Jared's dick, seating himself easy, and Jared tucks a hand behind his head and lets Jensen do whatever he wants, watching the way he's splitting him wide, his hips rocking sweet and selfish, dragging Jared toward what his body needs. When they're tied, Jared sits up and kisses Jensen's shoulders, holding his belly, and Jensen's hands press down on top of his and he shudders, shoulders to hips, and Jared lifts his head and looks at the pink back of Jensen's ear, and wonders.

He gets a text, from Jessie, that night. _Charlie says hi!_ it says, and attached is a picture—Charlie, smiling, like he almost never does. Jared's in the bathroom and he sits on the closed toilet and drags his hands through his hair, his stomach hurting. Jensen's going to want him downstairs for dinner, any minute. He texts back, _Hi Charlie!_ , with about fifteen little heart emojis, and then he turns his phone off and leaves it on the bathroom counter, and goes down to eat Jensen's food.

Jensen likes feeding him. Jared asks, because he thinks it's safe, "So, you like to cook?" and gets a long, chilly silence that doesn't make sense, since they're both eating the evidence. Of course, it's not just cooking. Jared wonders if Jensen went out for football or something, as a teenager. Boxing. Trying to be as masculine as he could. Jared takes another bite of lasagna, swallows. "What's your favorite thing to make?"

"I don't really have a favorite," Jensen says, cutting a precise squared-off bite. "I just make what I feel like making."

Jared shrugs. "Well, I like enchiladas," he says, and Jensen raises his eyebrows at him, but puts down his fork and opens up his phone, and in the morning there's a grocery delivery on the front step that Jensen makes Jared carry in, and it's all the stuff to make green chile pulled pork, and tortillas to match. He drinks coffee, watching Jensen start the pork to braising, and when Jensen closes the oven he looks—strange. "Jared," he says, and Jared goes to him, and it's—slower, that time. They go upstairs, take their time. Jensen's heat is still strong but it's maybe starting to ebb, Jared thinks, and he's less desperate but wants Jared deeper, in a more intense way. The ties even last longer, and Jensen keeps him in place, on top with his legs wrapped around Jared's hips, his hands in Jared's hair, kissing him like he's got something to say and doesn't know any other way to communicate it than this.

When he finally slips out Jensen makes a soft, hurt sound. "I wish you could just stay in," he says, quietly, and Jared laughs a little but Jensen doesn't. He licks his lips and turns his face away, and Jared pauses there, and kisses his throat, since it's offered, and the soft hollow between his collarbones. His skin's so soft, his smell ripe and sweet, his tang filling up Jared's head. He lips gently at one peaked nipple and, between them, spreads Jensen's thighs a little wider, and when he presses in all four fingers Jensen grabs his shoulders but sighs, long and content. Jared bites down, just enough that Jensen can feel his teeth, and when he works his knuckles inside the slow, deep ripple of him coming again makes the bones in his hand ache. He rubs his thumb over the sticky muscle of his taint, gives the nipple a kiss. "Do you want my hand?" he asks, quietly, and Jensen shudders and pulls his head up and kisses him, and Jared thinks the answer is yes. Jensen wants all of him. Jensen could just eat him, down to the bones, and probably wouldn't be satisfied.

He's sent to shower again, while Jensen goes downstairs to do something with the pork. When he comes out, toweling his hair, Jensen calls _come here_ , and he goes out into the hall to find the other bedroom's door open, as it hasn't been since he arrived. He goes in and finds Jensen standing there, in the middle of the carpet, looking strange and determined, but also—

He's in—it's not lingerie. Not frilly enough for that. A soft, dark grey tunic, sleeveless and a little too big. It gaps at his collarbone. It's cut with high sides, dipping low to cover the bump of his clit, but not low enough to hide the panties. They're soft-looking, too. Lavender cotton, with a little silk-ribbon detail. Jared wants very badly to see what they look like from behind, but he looks back up at Jensen's face, instead. "That looks comfy," he says, and Jensen closes his eyes, his expression doing something Jared doesn't at all understand. Every time he's met Jensen, he's wearing men's clothes, cut sharp and dangerous. All this week, Jensen's worn casual workout gear—shorts, loose t-shirts—easy to pull off when it's time to screw, and nothing personal about them, nothing feminine.

This looks like—a cozy night in. Something that isn't special but feels nice. Jared comes closer, drops his towel, fits his hands into the gaps at the sides of the tunic, and the panties are soft, the ribbon slipping under his finger. He dips and kisses Jensen, not aiming for more but just—comforting, like he knows to do when his wife has had a bad pain day and just wants to feel something gentle, and Jensen makes a raw sound and lets himself be kissed, his arms winding around Jared's neck. Holding on.

Jensen makes the enchiladas and absolutely refuses any help. "I actually know how to do this, though," Jared objects, and Jensen waves a hand and points him to the chair at the bar and so Jared sits, watching him.

He's still wearing his tunic, his panties. They're cut a little high in the back, it turns out, so Jared can see the sweet bottom curve of his asscheeks. His hair's a finger-combed mess—Jared's hasn't looked any better, the past few days—but it's long enough that he looks like—who he is. Or who he isn't. Jared can't tell what Jensen wants the truth to be.

Jensen closes the oven, again. "Half an hour," he says, "so the cheese can melt." He looks down at the stove, licks his lips.

"Can you wait?" Jared says. "Or do you want me again?"

"What a stupid question," Jensen says, but softly.

Jared takes the panties off very carefully, kissing the soft skin under Jensen's navel while he does it. They're wet, at the back, from Jensen's dripping. He keeps the tunic on. When he pushes inside, Jensen reaches for his face, but Jared catches his hands instead and pulls him up, taking his weight, so that Jensen's sitting in his lap, his legs wrapped around Jared's hips. "Like this," Jared says, sliding his hands under Jensen's tunic, and Jensen rests his arms on Jared's shoulders and sinks into it, his temple against Jared's, and it's slow, and careful, and it takes almost twenty minutes to untie, and by that time the oven timer's going off, and the cheese has gone from melted to a crisped brown.

"They're still fantastic," Jared says, and Jensen rolls his eyes, but he looks—calmer. Easier. He tugged his panties back on before they ate and he seems loose, casual, for the first time.

They watch the tail end of a basketball game. "We don't have to watch this if you don't want to," Jared says, and he means it to be nice but Jensen gives him a _you're very stupid_ look.

"It's not just men who like sports," he says. He tucks himself up under Jared's arm, like he's a high school boyfriend and Jensen's cold. Jared submits, and watches the game—it's bad, the Rockets look like shit—and is very aware, the whole time, of Jensen soft and hot against his side, Jensen's fingers tracing a thoughtless pattern on Jared's thigh where a few inches peek out of his shorts.

When the game's over, Jensen offers him a beer. First alcohol he's been allowed, all week. "Why?" Jared says, instead of accepting. The only other time he's had booze from Jensen was that very first time, to steel his nerves.

Jensen doesn't dissemble. "I want to try something," he says. "Come up."

He brings the beer. Jared follows his pretty ass up the stairs. The panties really are—something.

In the room Jared's started thinking of as his, Jensen opens the bedside table, and takes out a little packet, and tosses it Jared's way. Jared has to flip it over twice before he realizes what he's holding. "Sex aid?" he says, weirdly entertained. "I don't think we need any help with that."

Little tabs to dissolve on the tongue, like Listerine sheets. Designed for men who struggled to knot, at the key time. "I want you to stay in," Jensen says, and it's not like Jared can forget. His knuckles actually did bruise, a little, from how hard Jensen squeezed them. "I thought we could—try."

Jared ignores the beer and leaves the packet on the bedside table. He strips Jensen easily, and tips him back on the bed, and fucks him the first time standing, with Jensen's hips in his hands, rolling easy and a little slow, making sure Jensen comes at least once before he pushes his knot inside. His balls clutch up, glad, doing their job. Jensen's fingers trail over his chest, and his hips work a little, churning Jared's knot inside. "Try?" he says, oddly diffident, and Jared leans forward first and kisses him, but he gamely opens up the packet, and finds the little tabs inside.

It tastes like artificial cherry, like chapstick. He works his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to dissolve it faster to get rid of the flavor. When it's gone and he swallows it tastes like—oh, god. His nostrils flare. "What's it like?" Jensen says. He's lifted up on his elbows, watching.

His nasal passages feel full of it. "Like I've got my nose in your pussy and I can't get out," he says, and Jensen's face flinches in shock. He's working his hips against Jensen's ass, thoughtlessly, but it feels good and he doesn't think Jensen wants him to stop. He does wish he could pull out, just to drop to his knees and lick into Jensen and actually satisfy this craving that's filling up his head, but at the same time he doesn't want his dick to ever, ever leave this hot, perfect body.

His knot does go down, but only halfway. Jensen clenches around him, and pulls off slow, his asshole viciously tight around the thickness. "Fuck," Jared says, grimacing, and Jensen says, "Sorry, sorry—come here, come up here," and Jared crawls up onto the bed and falls onto his back and Jensen gets on top of him, holds his dick by the plumped knot and sinks right back down, his head falling back and a moan ripping out of him. It's hardly any work to fit himself right back down to the base, and he works his hips, using Jared's thickness to get himself off again. Under his relentless squeezing Jared fills again, his balls clenching helplessly, and Jensen falls down with his hands on either side of Jared's head and arches into it, his clit rubbing over Jared's stomach, his face all bliss.

Jared wonders if this is what Viagra is like. Four hour erection, call the doctor. Jensen keeps him inside, just like he wanted, and Jared's coming dry but his knot doesn't know it, staying locked up inside Jensen's heat. If they were actually making a baby, he thinks crazily, Jensen would be carrying quintuplets by now. Jensen pets his face, tugs his hair, kisses his jaw and his throat, and Jared's heart feels like he can't take it but Jensen's dragging it out of him, again, and it turns out—yes, he can take a little more.

He's sore, after a long while. Jensen has to be. Jensen pulls off of him again—it actually hurts, and Jensen shushes him softly and disappears for a moment. Long enough that the lamp turns off, and there's a wet gluggy sound, and when Jensen comes back he says, "Drink some water," and Jared does, gulping, not realizing how parched he was.

"Let me," Jensen says, in the mostly-dark, and Jared gives him the glass back, and takes a deep breath, and Jensen eases down on his dick slowly. Still tight, somehow, even after this. Furiously hot inside, incredibly wet from everything Jared's left inside him, and he can feel it when Jensen bears down to get the knot back inside—the quiver of the sore muscle, the quiet gasp—and fuck, it hurts as the rim grips him again, but when Jensen settles down, right at the base, it's—okay. God, after this long it just feels right.

Jensen's facing away, his ass plush against Jared's pelvis. He leans back, carefully, and Jared holds his waist, helps him down, until he's lying flat out on Jared's front, his head pillowed on Jared's shoulder. Jared's exhausted, but he kisses Jensen's temple, since he can reach it. Jensen laughs, softly.

"I didn't know it would feel like that," he says. Quiet, since it's dark. Pillow talk.

"I think I might never come again," Jared says.

Jensen laughs again, and his body shakes enough that he clenches around Jared's dick. Jared flinches, even if it feels bizarrely, painfully good. "Don't say that," Jensen says, and it's warm, sweet. "That's my favorite thing about you."

Jared snorts. He draws up a knee and Jensen's thigh tips out, accommodating him; he rubs slowly over Jensen's soft belly, his chest, and Jensen sighs. Jared kisses his temple again, and squeezes his chest. Where his tits would grow, if they'd made a baby. He rubs a thumb very gently under one budded nipple. "Do you have more clothes like that?" he says, coming at it from an off-angle. "In your room?"

Jensen's head tips. "Some," he says, after a pause. "Stuff I ordered online."

"What do you like?" Jensen's hand comes up to hold Jared's wrist, but Jared keeps his voice soft, curious. He's tired enough, it's not hard to sound drowsily interested. "If you could wear anything, what would it be?"

Jensen's quiet for long enough that Jared starts to actually drift off. He refocuses when Jensen takes an audibly deep breath. "I have a skirt," he says. "Knee-length, full. It's white and it has sunflowers printed on it." Jared tries to picture it. He imagines Jensen in that grey tunic from today, his muscled arms crossed over his chest—the skirt flowing underneath, his legs bare below it. Cute, he thinks. Jensen's playing with Jared's thumb. "When I bought it, I imagined going to the pool at the hotel, and going to the bar and getting a drink, and everyone seeing. I look really good in that skirt."

His voice doesn't sound any different. Jared turns his hand and catches Jensen's, folding his fist over Jensen's smaller one.

Jensen says, softly, "Dad always wanted a son."

It doesn't make sense. It's not the '50s. The lies, built up, and the weird subterfuge, and Jared knows because he looked it up that the tabloid scandal was that Jensen Ackles, male heir to that Vegas hotel and casino, got caught with another man—that actor, who was in that just-okay superhero movie. The actor never really got work, after that. Jensen didn't show up much in the papers, after that. The life you'd have, trying to live up to some strange expectation, with everything you'd ever known on the line.

Jared maneuvers their legs a little—gets both his knees inside Jensen's, spreading his thighs. "Get yourself off," Jared says, against Jensen's temple. Jensen's hand jerks, under his, and he pushes it down Jensen's own belly. "Let me see."

He barely can. There's the moonlight coming in the mostly-closed blinds and the light from the hall seeping in. Jensen doesn't move, for a few seconds, and Jared kisses him just above the ear, encouraging. When his fingers do slip down they're delicate, careful. Nothing like how he'll grab Jared's dick, like it's his to do with what he wills. He touches himself like he's a stranger, and Jared has guessed by now that he is. He helps, just a little—rubs Jensen's nipples, shifts his hips—and Jensen squeezes around his knot and sucks in shaky air, rubbing his clit more firmly against the shallow pan of his belly. "Does it feel good?" Jared says, and Jensen nods wordlessly and turns his face in against Jared's throat, and he actually fists himself, squeezing his little pole, rubbing his thumb over the tip. His hips work, kicking back into Jared's, and fuck it hurts, squeezing Jared where he's bruised-sore, but he says, very softly, "That's it, baby, show me, that's so fuckin' pretty, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," and Jensen moans and grips Jared's hand, fucks his clit up into his fist, and he comes painfully, rippling, his lips wet at Jared's throat, his nails biting so hard into the back of Jared's hand that the half-moon marks take a long time to fade.

*

The heat's as good as gone, Saturday afternoon. Jensen's washing the breakfast dishes and Jared's having a third cup of coffee. Jensen makes incredible coffee.

Jensen dries his hands, and goes to a kitchen drawer. He pulls out an envelope, and sets it next to Jared's mug. "Five thousand cash, and a check to make up the rest." Jared blinks at him and Jensen shrugs, like it's nothing. "Hit the withdrawal limit. Don't worry, the check's from an LLC. Nothing suspicious."

He's not in his sweet hal clothes, anymore. Those disappeared after his morning shower, and Jared missed them already. Jeans, that probably cost more than Jared's rent, and a terribly soft dark brown henley, and his hair styled, finally, into that passable, expensive side-part.

Jared doesn't open the envelope. He knows by now that Jensen keeps his promises. He stands up and comes around the island, and Jensen watches him coming, and he takes Jensen's hips in his hands and presses him back against the counter, and kisses him, open and deep, staking a claim.

"Oh, very alpha," Jensen says, when he pulls back. He's not fooling Jared—his ears have gone bright pink. "Time's up, though. I called your cab."

"You kiss me when time's up all the time," Jared says. He hasn't lifted his weight away and Jensen's pinned, his hands braced back against the counter. "Indulge me a little."

"Cab's here in ten minutes," Jensen says, raising his eyebrows, but that's enough more than enough—Jared kisses him, again, and pushes his hand between them, and squeezes through Jensen's jeans, and gets him off right there, quick, against the kitchen counter, all their clothes still on but Jensen panting fast into his mouth, his hands gripping Jared's t-shirt.

Jared bumps his nose against Jensen's cheek and pulls back. Jensen looks rumpled, which is all Jared wanted. He ignores his own dick and backs up, to the other side of the kitchen, and Jensen looks—lost, for a second, his hand flexing.

Jensen's phone beeps, on the counter, and he doesn't look at it. "Ride's here," he says. "Go on. The wife will be missing you."

He's literally barefoot in the kitchen. Jared takes a deep breath. "Are you going to call me again?"

He gets a smile, vaguely bitter. "Assuming that's not a problem," Jensen says.

A honk, outside. Jared says, "No problem at all," and picks up his bag, and leaves.

The cab driver's friendly, talkative. Jared's knee jogs, in the backseat, while he stares out the window. The driver goes on about being lucky, all the way back to the casino.

**Author's Note:**

> [posted here on my tumblr if you'd like to reblog](https://zmediaoutlet.tumblr.com/post/631087949984972800/in-support-of-wildfire-relief) \-- reblogs help more people see the relief campaign, so it's appreciated if you have a tumblr.
> 
> Would appreciate any thoughts you have.


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